Silence
by Taure
Summary: Oneshot. A small take on a fateful meeting of the International Confederation of Warlocks.


Disclaimer: All characters and situations you may recognise in this story are the property not of me, but of J.K. Rowling and her affiliates. I do this for pleasure, not profit.

* * *

Silence.

It is a strange thing, true silence. No human can ever really comprehend what it is to be completely still, for humanity is an impatient race.

A passer by might think that the wizards and witches of the International Confederation of Warlocks had never heard of the word silence as they milled about, making a racquet as the Speaker of the House repeatedly bashed his worn hammer down in front of him.

As the Speaker's calls for order were echoing about the ornate walls of the Confederation building, Albus Dumbledore could not help himself as he cast his twinkling blue eyes around the dome-like chamber, allowing himself to get lost in the beauty of the room.

Of the perfectly circular room, almost all was taken up by tiered rows of comfortable desks and seating in concentric circles. Albus, as one of the delegates from Britain, had seating in a private box high up in the wall of the dome, and had a perfect view of the commotion below.

The circle of seating was broken only by a platform leading from the large arched doorway that was the entrance to the hall to the centre of the chamber, where it stretched out into a raised circular dais. It was on this platform that the speaker sat and where those addressing the chamber would stand by a lectern, carved in the shape of a dragon.

The whole room gave off the impression of a wealthy palace: throughout the room there stood great golden pillars holding up the ceiling, upon which was painted a giant fresco of wizards, demons and arcane magic; the carpet lining the floor was an expensive and velvety blood red and all along the fine wooden wall there stood between the private boxes large portraits of famous wizards in frames that must have cost thousands of galleons.

Albus' attention finally returned to the Speaker as the old wizard finally gained control over the floor.

"Thank you!" The ChairWizard snapped, his weak voice evident despite being magically amplified by the spells set into the dais. "Now that I _finally_ have your attention, the chair will recognise a guest from Great Britain, who has requested to speak to our great assembly."

Albus was starting to get a bad feeling about this. No surprise was a good surprise, he always said.

"The chair recognises he who calls himself, Lord Voldemort."

At the mention of that name, Albus' heart dropped and he slumped back into his chair, just as the wizards of the chamber straightened up in interest. You did not get to see a Lord every day, after all.

All eyes turned to the arched doorway as the double doors opened smoothly and a tall man, dressed in a simple yet elegant black robe walked – no, glided – into the hall.

If Albus had been hoping that his fellow warlocks would be put off by the appearance of the stranger, his hopes were soon dashed. Though the newcomer's once handsome face was marred by magical transformations, the wizards of the assembly were no strangers to unusual wizards, and the charisma with which this Lord Voldemort moved placated any disgust that may have occurred at the sight of his snake-like and menacing visage.

Albus watched as Tom walked up onto the dais and thanked the Speaker with a nod and a handshake before turning to the lectern to address his audience. Albus quickly cleared his mind, knowing that Tom's voice had a magic of its own which was not to be underestimated.

"Noble Wizards and Witches of the Confederation, I bring before you a matter of utmost importance to our world," Tome began; his voice, despite being magnified many times, felt like a whisper right beside the listeners ears, its smooth and hissing tones reassuring them. As he spoke, he looked around at the people before him, and though it was impossible each witch and wizard would swear afterwards that he had looked right into their eyes with his own red slits, as if they were the only person in the room.

"A plague has spread itself across our world; a disease that threatens our way of life. Like a virus, it mutates and evolves, each change making it a greater threat to our very lives. I speak, of course, of the Muggles."

"If they remain unchecked, the Muggles will destroy this planet and everything on it: you will all no doubt remember the two defilements that the Muggles set off not twenty years ago. Even now, as I am speaking to you, their population spreads, and with them comes their pollution, sending us all towards a world of harsh ice and freezing cold."

His every move carefully calculated, every word uttered with precision, Lord Voldemort had captured his audience. Albus had seen in his time many pureblood fanatics pass though the confederation, and not one of them had escaped being shouted down – yet here Tom was, every witch and wizard hanging on his words like a house-elf. Of course, Albus had seen Tom do it in school many years ago to both students and teachers alike, but to see such a large and experienced audience ensnared was quite something else.

"And now," Voldemort continued, his voice lowering as he reached the crux of his speech, "this plague is spreading itself further and further into _our_ world. Every year our schools eagerly take on more and more so-called Muggle-born children, but at what cost?"

Voldemort paused here, looking out over the audience, though he knew they would not attempt to answer. He began again, his voice now wistful,

"I remember a time, when a Wizard or a Witch was more than just a Muggle with special powers." His voice now grew more forceful, though its volume did not change. "I remember a time, when Wizards were _proud_ of their culture! A wizard is NOT just a Muggle with special powers – we are a Magical race: pure, powerful, and Lords of Magic! I cannot – will not – allow this, our very heritage and identity, be lost, and neither should you."

He took one last look at the audience, his red eyes burning into their very souls, and stepped down from the dais. Nodding curtly once more to the speaker, who had a tear in his eye, Voldemort glided back down the platform to the exit from the chamber. Someone started clapping, and by the time Voldemort had reached the archway leaving the hall, the whole floor was giving him a standing ovation, unable to see his hidden smirk.

Back in his box, Albus Dumbledore sighed as he saw how easily his fellow wizards were taken in. Something had to be done.

* * *

Inspired by:

"_Were – were your parents Death Eaters as well?"_

"_No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the wizarding race, getting rid of Muggle-borns and having pure-bloods in charge. They weren't alone, either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colours, who thought he that the right idea about things…"_

From _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_, page 104, British hardback edition.

Evidently there was a time when Voldemort was able to walk around freely (as we see in HBP), and apparently he preached a lot of pure-blood philosophy, so I thought I'd do a little one-shot of this idea.


End file.
